


The Practice of Peace and Reconciliation

by HaroThar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Diamonds everywhere, Eridan with Alpha Humans, Everyone's alive, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Platonic Cuddling, Reconciliation, Redemption, Touch-Starved, hints at Ara/Fef, hints at pitch Roxy/Sollux, miracles everywhere, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 01:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10232921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroThar/pseuds/HaroThar
Summary: Miracles everywhere! All the dead trolls are now alive again and Eridan is persona non grata among his former friends. After being booted out by the people he'd hurt, he finds a second chance in the Alpha humans, and is provided an opportunity at redemption.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [An Errant Tumbleweed (cryogenia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/gifts).



I. Your name is Roxy Lalonde.

You’re the one who finds him. Funnily enough, you’re the only one who’s _actually_ looking. You understand why his friends wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore, you totally do. He killed two of them and tried to kill a third, and it’s totally reasonable to think that he would’ve killed others if Kanaya hadn’t sawed him in half, so really, you get why they don’t like him. If Jake or Dirk or (not-possessed) Jane had gone batshit and tried to kill a solid fourth of your group, you would’ve been pissed as hell and betrayed up on into the nines too.

But you are not the one who was wronged, and your friends are not the ones who were hurt, and as much as you understand the need to chop off a rotting limb, well. You can’t just abandon somebody. Especially somebody who was thirteen when he made his bad choices! If you held everyone accountable for the stuff they did when they were thirteen you’d be in a near constant state of screaming at Dirk. Just. AAAAAAAH. You know?

Also you’re drawn to the idea of completion. Everyone being home, even if maybe things can’t be as picturesque as you’d want them.

You actually hadn’t known there was another seadweller on the troll team. Like okay you guess it makes _sense_ that literally the rarest kind of seatroll wouldn’t be the only seatroll, but still. Violet, huh? Also there are angels in this part of the planet and you’re a sucker, it’s you, you wanna see the angel territory while you look for the enigmatic anger-shark.

Dear sweet precious darling Feferi told you the most about Eridan. Apparently they used to be dating, before she dumped him for being too emotionally taxing with little to no return on the emotional labor. You think she’s a real brave girl for doing that, putting her own needs first even though she really really (eel-ly) cared about the person. Oh and then he killed her and she’s sorta puffed up about that (her cheeks are the cutest things EVAR when she’s pouty. All she needs now are some threatening spikes and you can call her a puffer fish except not because you love those cheeks and you definitely gotta get to the friend tier necessary to make her let you squeeze them) but that is deeeeeeeefs reasonable for her to be. Getting killed by your ex-boyfriend/bestfriend would leave a mark on anyone, you think.

But anyway she’s the one who told you the most about him, with Sollux being a douchy opiniondouche intermittently. Eridan’s an angry boy. A violent boy. A boy with a lot of negative energy and a big gun and only a moderately healthy outlet for any of that rage but Gl'bgolyb isn’t alive and doesn’t need feeding anymore so that takes the sorta-healthy outlet tally down to 0. But Feferi also told you about how he was really sweet when he wanted to be, how he was always interested in helping her as long as he could help her the way _he_ thought was best, which was frustrating but the sentiment was appreciated. He was a stupid kid, as much as any of them, apparently, with an affinity for wizards and science and what sound like some really ass-ugly scarves.

Okay so maybe you’re a lil bit looking for a wizard-science-scarf buddy (though Sollux is the one who likes computers the most from that team which is bluh cause you don’t actually like Sollux much (but you’re going to keep working with him and keep being waaaay better than him at basically everything when it comes to coding just to wipe that smug look off his face, he’s no match for your brains)) but you also think that Eridan is probably worth giving a second chance to!! 

So you go from the patchwork square central of the planet, a swath of land with checkerboard soil and carapacian structures that is now what remains of Skaia, and set out in search for him. All your lands have been quilted together in this new planet, and while some are really nice (like Jade’s) others are less fun to be in (like Dirk’s).

Eridan’s land, though, nobody really goes into. He sorta got booted out by his teammates before you ever got a chance to meet him, so you’re not sure what he looks like (you’re sure you’ll recognize him when you find him), but his land is well known as the place that nobody thinks is a good idea. Lots of really pissed off angels and ancient cathedral-lookin’ buildings and hard lines and sharp drops and gargoyles and fences with (very fancy) spikes on them that are sometimes at the bottoms of aforementioned sharp drops and basically everything about this area is made out of metal or marble or screeching holy fury and none of it is welcoming. So, naturally, this is where the local social outcast ran off to hide. Probably. You really hope he’s here because while you like to pride yourself on being willing to try new things you really don’t want to have come all the way into this territory for nothing. Even angels aren’t _that_ enticing. You’re so glad you swiped that plate of cookies Jane and her dad had just finished frosting before embarking on this mission because you are really not sure how you would’ve bribed the many, many furious angels to leave you alone otherwise. 

What sounds like a blaster gun and then the agonized shrieking of an angry angel tell you that yes, there is at least one other person here that isn’t forged of Hope and tempered in holy fury. You Void yourself over that direction, and then remember that you cannot DO THAT here!!! You just about teleported yourself right on top of a spike bed! Yeesh, what a disheartening territory. Beautiful but very dangerous. From what Feferi told you, Eridan spent a lot of time in this territory during the Game, and as of recently has spent around another four months here unless he wandered around other territories first. It strikes you as incredibly lonely, and no place for a thirteen year old OR a sixteen year old. Though, you like to think that you’re significantly more adult than you were when you were thirteen. Those three years might’ve been short but you grew a lot during them. Besides, thirteen year olds are like, babies. This is not a place for babies.

This is not a place for bleeding shark-themed trolls or the black ichor of angels or cute sixteen year old heartthrobs, but here you all are. Eridan’s on the ground, his magic-lookin’ harpoon braced against the headache inducing marble of the ground, and a bleeding angel is making an arch over him, bleeding black from its damaged wing with its maw gaping and hissing loudly at the troll. It’s braced on its snake-like tail and one clawed hand is holding the wing just above the wound.

“Fuckin’ fast ass piece of shit fucking angel,” Eridan’s muttering, and you hear a high whine that tells you the gun is recharging and Eridan’s gonna get fucking slaughtered if that angel manages to strike before he can fire again. But it’s reared up and seems to only be hovering long enough to taste Eridan’s fear, so you highly doubt he’s gonna survive this. Unless, of course, local super cutie steps in and helps him out. Don’t you just have such phenomenal timing? You toss a perfectly generic object at the angel, which makes its attention swivel to you, and affords Eridan the few seconds he needs to get in a headshot.

“Oh yuck that is nast,” you comment, making a face at the black ichor that comes spurting out of the hole where the head used to be. It looks like oil and smells like petrichor in a car graveyard (you know what that smells like now, having more than 100 square feet of land to exist on is so rad).

“The fuck are you?” Eridan asks you, standing on some impressively shaky legs and bracing himself on his gun (that can't be safe). He clutches at his skull, purple oozing out between his fingers.

“I'm Roxy! You must be Eridan!” you greet cheerfully.

“Someone send you?” He’s got four tears in the side of his sweater, purple spilling out from them, too.

“Lmao nah. I'm just here to see what’s up with you and check if you want to be friends!”

You know, you consider yourself to be a friendly lady, but obvs you're not doing a very good job of that right now cause Eridan pulls back his lips and honest to god _snarls_ at you.

“Sure you are,” he spits, glaring at you.

“Woah dude,” you take an easy step back, leaning your weight artfully onto your back heel and kicking up the toes of your front foot, raising your hands with a small shrug, “chill out. I'm not here to pick a fight.”

“Somehow,” he’s panting for breath, too, “I doubt that.” His whole baring-his-fangs-at-you thing gets a lil ruined when he sways and almost loses his balance. You snort as he scrambles to avoid falling over or dropping his gun, and he snaps his fangs threateningly at you. You feel soooooo threatened. You are the most threatened girl in the whole new world, it is you. You cannot contain your threatened-ness at the sight of this troll boy who looks like a stiff breeze is gonna come along and be the thing that finally knocks him over.

Looking back, you’ll wonder if John had the ability to read your mind and play a prank on you in that moment, or maybe it was just fate fuckin with you, cause next thing you know a chilly wind tousles your hair and send the troll boy over. You’re stunned, at first, and are very prepared to laugh at him except for the fact that he doesn't actually stand back up. Well. Alright.

You go check his pulse, which you don't know if it's weak or strong cause aliens, but you do know that it is in fact there!

“Well this is all terribly exciting,” you tell the unconscious troll. You caphcalogue his rifle (which you totally don't go take a few practice rounds with out in the shooting range while he’s still unconscious, anyone saying differently is spewing lies and slander) and then sling Eridan up over your shoulder.

You’re prayin’ you have enough cookies for the way home. Hopefully (eyyyyy puns) the angels will remember you and also think Eridan is dead and you're just removing his corpse.


	2. Chapter 2

II. Your name is Jake English.

It’s been about two weeks since Roxy brought Eridan home with her, slung over her shoulder like the world’s most tastelessly dressed sack of potatoes. Not to toot your own horn or anything, but you happen to know a thing or two about looking nice and dressing dapper, and Eridan does neither of those. He acts much like he dresses, you're afraid: entirely uncivilized. For one thing, he’s attached at the bloody hip to Roxy, following her like a lovestruck puppy and absolutely tripping all over himself every time she bumps his shoulder or ruffles his hair. He goes all purple in the face and flutters his ears at her and even goes speechless half the time! It’s embarrassing to look at. For another, he’s nearly constantly locked in the throes of self-flagellation. On and on and on he goes! He’s a terrible person who killed his friends and deserves to be alone and blah blah blah! You don't know how Roxy can be such a patient listener when he just whines whines whines. Honestly! Jane did quite a nasty bit at you- although she was mind controlled for that so it’s probably different- but you have no hard feelings for her! He needs to get out of the adornment jingled house sometime! He can't just hide in your group living room and Roxy’s bedroom forever!

Oh you have just been struck by the most jolly of ideas! Eridan has that fancy dandy set of gills, you should bring him with you when you're exploring underwater caves today! You’d not planned on going quite that direction but it’s hardly out of your way! 

“Eridan old chap!” you greet, clapping him on the shoulder. He jolts at first and pulls out his harpoon rifle, which you’ve grown quite acclimated to you’re afraid. Terribly jumpy fellow. “Come with me on an expedition today! I'm headed over to the land of Caves and Silence and thought I’d bring someone along to break the silence with! Hoh hoh!”

Eridan is stiff under your hand, Complacency of the Learned sitting open on his lap, one page ruffled from where his harpoon had crinkled it, but he doesn't brush your hand away and hasn't for a week now. “Ask Dirk,” he says, guarded, but you're having none of it.

“Dirk can come with me some other time! I’d like to bring you along!”

“Me, specifically?” Eridan asks incredulously. “Why?”

“I'm golly darned sick as brussel of your moping!” you tell him brightly. You move Roxy’s book off his lap and haul him up to his feet, ignoring his startled protesting.

“Nope!” you cut him off, “You’re coming with!” You leave the house and kick the door shut behind you.

“And what kinda brain damage makes you think that being sick of my ‘mopin’ is gonna go away by hauling me along with?” he asks you sharply, hand clenching at yours with a wiry strength that proves he would be quite the formidable foe in a nice tussle between bros. Then he lets go.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean it I- shit, Rox has been talkin’ with me about this shit and I don't- sorry.”

You have not let go of his hand and neither do you stop walking forward, feeling the grin on your face that comes with thoughts of exploration. 

“No harm done my good man! And I do plan on getting you to stop moping by showing you a good time!”

Eridan’s hand squeezes briefly again on yours and he hastens a little so he can walk closer to side by side with you.

“You're gonna show me a good time?” he repeats, a little slower than you said it.

“Indeed I am!” you say brightly, having no idea why he would be blushing right now.

He looks away from you, his scarf flapping in the wind that barrels into you as you walk forward, and then eventually nods with a small smile, his hand shifting in your grip so he can thread his fingers with yours.

“I think I’d appreciate that,” he says, and you're not sure what’s happening persay but you are jolly pleased to see him open to the idea of enjoying himself in your company. 

You both swim in the caves, his gills far outmatching your limited breath even with all your many years building up lung strength swimming on your island. You find many interesting things in the underwater caves of Equius’s land, some of which you place in your sylladex. Mementos, of sorts. You are well and truly rewarded to see Eridan smiling at you, swimming and searching and finally having a good time.


	3. Chapter 3

III. Your name is Dirk Strider.

It has been three weeks and one day exactly since Jake first took Eridan out on what he insists is not a date, five weeks and two days since Roxy hauled Eridan home to live with you four. Eridan now spends approximately 67% of his waking hours with Roxy, which is a 27% decrease from the first two weeks, and 24% of his time with Jake. The other 9% he divides evenly between you, Jane, and himself. Eridan has left your house exactly eleven times since his arrival, all of them being towed somewhere with Jake, and he has spent 0% of his time while under your collective care attempting to contact his former friends. What he has been doing is leaning into every single touch he gets from Roxy or Jake, and occasionally Jane, with at least a 28% tilt or higher. Touches he does not see coming, he recoils from, and he has drawn his rifle on members of your group a total of 27 times since his arrival, 77.78% of those during the first week of his stay. Roxy has, thankfully enough, managed to prevent aforementioned situations from escalating past a room full of drawn weapons. You have noted that his pupils dilate whenever Roxy and/or Jake enter the room, and his earfins perk 1. when they speak to him 2. when either of them touches him and 3. when Jane accidentally mistook him for Jake since she had her glasses off and was 97% not-awake and kissed his cheek good morning. 

You’re talking to Jake about it.

“Hm, Eridan? Yes, he is quite the touchy bloke! Although I do often initiate, seeing as the only way to haul him out of the house is with force, but honestly I just cannot _stand_ when he lounges about moping and darn well need to put a smile on that face somehow! Fortuitously enough, he seems to enjoy our jaunts as much as I do, if I’m reading him right, although you’re absolutely correct I think he truly likes it best when we’re engaging in physical contact. Why, I don’t think we’ve gone on a single expedition and not held hands during it at some point or other! Actually come to think of it that might be a tad strange...”

“It’s probably a pale thing,” you remark, taking a sip of your diet soda. Jane insists that diet is somehow supposed to be better for your _diet_ than regular soda, but you’re pretty sure it just makes you more likely to contract cancer. Apparently you drink enough fanta to drown a cow but you think she’s one to talk. 

“Blimey! My good Dirk I think you’re probably right!”

You are, of course, entirely correct, on all accounts. You have this Eridan thing on lock. You know him better than he knows himself, all his false starts and angry outbursts that quickly deflate and end in apologies, the way he acts like he knows what’s best only to get soundly and thoroughly told. You know all about how he’ll do things with good intentions and near-disastrous results (the toaster oven will never be the same). You do, nowadays, realize that many of these traits are things you share with him, but you can’t stop yourself from looking, looking, always looking, prying into his behavior like if you’re desperate enough to see your own behaviors reflected in him, it might mean it’s a little more okay that you do the kind of stuff he does, too.

“Dirk? You’re wool gathering like a shepherd there, man!”

You snap out of your thoughts, “Sorry, I was distracted.”

“That’s what I just said!”

“Ah.” You honestly have no idea what Jake will occasionally say, but it’s only occasionally so you keep your title as smartest dude in the room in every given room you enter. 

“I think Eridan’s reading on the couch,” you comment, knowing full well that Eridan is always on the couch between 3:04-3:12 and 3:26-4:16. Since it is currently 3:19, you are well within a perfectly safe margin, and are guaranteed to find him in the living room, “I think I’m gonna go chill with him a bit.”

“Tally ho then, chap! Send him a hello from me!” Jake waves at you with a cheery smile that makes you remember, for a moment, just how incredibly gay you are (not that you like labeling yourself as such, given the history of that word being used as a slur against members of your community, but the emotion you’re feeling has yet to find a better term than “really fucking gay, wow,” so you’ll go with what works). 

You have the whole Eridan thing totally locked, tighter than an unopened jar of pickles up in here, you want a pickle? Too bad. You’ve got this shit so tight those pickles could survive an apocalypse. And since you have this Eridan situation on such mad lock, you are 100% confident as you enter the living room. It is definitely the right decision you are making when you saunter in and plop yourself down on the couch next to him, you have this all planned out so well. 

“Uh, hey,” he says. He’s almost done with Complacency of the Learned, you note. His hands have less visible bones in them, you also note, and appreciate that he’s not half starving to death anymore.

“Sup,” you greet eloquently. You are the smoothest, it is you.

“Readin’,” he says. He’s looking at you like he’s not sure why you’re there, which is fair, and like you might be there to threaten him, which is also fair.

“Ah.” Wow, you are on such a roll today. “You like it?”

“Yeah. This is actually my second time through, I missed a bunch the first time. Rox’s lusus was a real intelligent lady.” He holds up the book, like you could’ve missed the giant tome or something. But now that is an interesting piece of information. Twice? In only five weeks? Eridan is a faster reader than you gave him credit for, and also you suppose you haven’t been paying as precise of attention to him as you thought, if you missed something as obvious as him starting that mammoth of a text over. 

“Neat. I’m particularly fond of the beard-stroking scene,” you say for conversation’s sake. As he replies, you slowly inch yourself in a way that you know is all too visible along the back of the couch towards him. 

“Yeah that part was funny. I’m more wondering the implications it has with the cultural norms of… what are you doin’?”

You reach out your arm and sling it around his shoulders. Foolproof. He locks up, which you really should’ve expected because wow, who the fuck just comes in out of nowhere and starts touching people? What the fuck are you even doing, you’re making a goddamned dunce out of yourself. Before you can pull your arm back and apologize for your truly impressive fuckup and run away with your tail between your legs, he leans into you.

“Seriously,” he says, curling his legs up so his knees are on top of your closest thigh and his cheek can rest on your shoulder, “what the fuck are you even doin’?” His hand goes to your shirt and he clutches lightly at the fabric, so soft his claws don’t even nick the threads.

“I am attempting to pale hit on you, in a human sense,” you say, as if you are even remotely comprehensible. Whatever. Play it cool, act like you meant to sound like a fucking moron who’s never interacted socially before in his entire hecking life. 

“Oh,” Eridan says, going tense again. He doesn’t move away from you, but he does start talking a little faster, his voice a little tighter. “Uh, listen, I’m real appreciative of that but Rox is sorta already basically my moirail, I just gotta ask her if we’re official or whatever, so as much as I really appreciate you pitying me an’ all I don’t think I could, really reciprocate, though, thanks.”

“You do realize both Roxy and Jake have been being what trolls define as pale for you for the last three weeks, right?” you ask, because you’re not sure why he’s only mentioning Roxy.

“I- no? Jake is- well, that’s- I mean…” Eridan drifts off, but still isn’t moving away from you at all so you experimentally rub your hand over his back. He shivers, and you cautiously continue, but when a tiny little kitten’s purr pops up you decide fuck everything that is the cutest shit ever. Touching Eridan: good idea.

“Humans don’t really do quadrants like trolls do,” you remind him, “you can be pale with all four of us at once.”

“Oh,” he breathes, and you think you may have accidentally opened his eyes to a new world of possibilities or some shit. You kiss his hair, because fuck caution or going slow, and his purr jumps an approximate 80% in volume. He shifts closer to you, clinging- honest to god clinging- to you like some newborn goddamned koala. It’s cute as shit. He’s cute as shit. He’s a mess of a person but you like him, you’ve found. Even with his odd aggressions and excessive wariness of everything that moves, you find yourself wanting to help him. 

You’ve never been good with words, much, you prefer to think of yourself as a man of action, but maybe you don’t have to talk too much with him. Maybe you can just be there, like this, and hold him when he needs you and get held in return. You’re generating a 99% chance that you really like that idea.


	4. Chapter 4

IV. Your name is Jane Crocker. 

Eridan is just sort of a part of your life now. You’ve taken to kissing him good morning along with all your other housemates, ever since that one flub on your part. You make Dirk set the table for five and you make him remind Roxy to change the sheets for you, so he’s the one that gets to deal with her whining. You’re not half as worried about Jake, now that he has an adventure buddy. He still goes off on his own far too much for you to be totally comfortable, but you remind yourself that he lived on a hellmurder island his whole life and then also played the Game with you, he’s fine, he’s just as competent as you are. It’s still nice to have Eridan with him, though.

Eridan likes lemon flavored things, you’ve found, so you make a pitcher of lemonade to share and holler for him. He comes into the kitchen wearing one of Roxy’s scarves, his earfins narrow and pinned down against the sides of his skull. He’s got a quickness to his step and he’s poised like he wants to be standing straight, but ended up hunching in on himself juuuuuust a little. Honestly, it’s like he thinks you’re going to yell at him. You’re not that mean, and besides, you like to think you’ve calmed down on being quite so bossy.

“Hello there! I made some lemonade and was hoping you’d quality check it for me!” you greet cheerily, sending him a wink. 

“Quality check?” he asks as you pour him a glass, his face half turned away from you. You wonder if he’s doing it expressly for the purpose of giving you a side-eye. You huff.

“Try it!” you elaborate, handing him the glass and then pouring one for yourself. He takes it from you with a level of uncertainty, and you take the pitcher and your own glass to the kitchen table, taking a sip. You wonder if maybe it’s a little too sweet? Oh well, you take a seat and set the pitcher on the wood. Eridan joins you and takes a sip, and his eyes widen and his earfins flare out from the sides of his face at full mast. It’s hilarious enough to make you laugh at him, and he splutters, moving his drink forward and bringing his other hand to his mouth to catch the liquid slipping down his chin. 

“You alright there?” you ask, chortling at his reaction. It wasn’t even a prank, and yet you got him thoroughly!

“This is the weirdest fuckin’ thing I have ever put in my mouth,” Eridan informs you, reaching for a napkin and attempting to clean himself up. He got lemonade all over his sweater, unfortunately, so he has to remove it, and you catch sight of his wrists. Ah, the poor dear. None of them look particularly old, and you have a sudden, strong wondering about what all happened to him in those months before Roxy went out in search for him. Once again, your brave leader has proven to be smarter and more empathetic than the rest of you lot combined. It gets you thinking, though.

Eridan, now prepared for the way it tastes, takes another sip. “Jane, I dunno what the fuck this is made out of, but it tastes like five mistakes got shoved in a blender and something correct managed to make its way out.”

You laugh at him. “It’s just lemons and sugar and water!” you protest, “That’s only three ingredients!”

“Well the lemons count as three mistakes all on their own, what the fuck.” He takes another sip, and his face does some truly acrobatic maneuvers but he continues to drink it.

“You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it,” you tell him gently, and he shakes his head at you.

“No, no, I like it, I just ain’t _ever_ had anything like it.” He takes another drink.

“Eridan,” you ask, “you’ve been here for a while now, why haven’t you tried to speak with any of your old friends?”

As good as Dirk and Jake are, and as astounding as you can all agree Roxy is, you highly doubt the four of you can supply for all of Eridan’s emotional needs, especially since he seems to have had quite the falling out. You might not know everything, but you like to think of yourself as a pretty smart cookie, and you know that if Eridan doesn’t at least attempt to make amends, it’s only ever going to eat away at him. 

He’s rather predictable. He turns from you, pulling the glass to his face like a social shield. “Cause they hate me and want nothing to do with me.”

“I highly doubt that,” you say.

“And how would you know?” he asks sharply, turning to level a glare at you. You decapchalogue a newspaper and whap him on the head with it.

“Enough of that,” you snip, and he’s so honestly stunned by you whapping him with a newspaper it completely derails him. Good. You only get to use that trick once or twice before people acclimate to it, so you’re going to have to monitor yourself and ration it out. You get the feeling Eridan is the kind of person you’re going to want to be able to stun when you try to give him serious talks. 0 to 100 this boy, no speeds in between. “You hurt your friends quite badly and they got angry at you. That’s what people are _supposed_ to do when you hurt them, Eridan.”

“Or kill them,” he interjects.

“Or kill them,” you allow, “and do you know what _you’re_ supposed to do when you’ve hurt- or killed- someone?”

He stares at you, then shrinks uncomfortably, looking much like he wouldn’t like to be having this conversation. You say nothing else, only await his answer. He fidgets quite impressively for a solid number of seconds, and then makes an aborted, “Listen I can’t just- just go there and…”

You don’t interrupt him, and you think maybe he was expecting you to. He tries to say something else, then stops again. You take a sip of your lemonade, staring at him over the rim.

“Apologize,” he eventually mutters.

“Quite right!” you tell him brightly. 

“They’d rip me to pieces,” he tells you sullenly, “and they’d have every right to. I wouldn’t make it out alive.”

“Stop being melodramatic,” you scold matter-of-factly. “You’ll be fine. It’s just going to be unpleasant and take some honest emotions and time for them to heal. But they’re not going to unless you apologize, Eridan, you know that.”

“Do I though?” he asks, and you roll your eyes with a small huff.

“Well, you do now!” You keep yourself blunt yet cheery, a wall of amicable stubbornness that will budge no more than the arm of the swarthiest man at an arm wrestling championship. 

“Why are you so insistent on making me make amends?”

“Because I’m your friend, and I care about you!” you tell him. No use beating around the bush, especially when the subject at hand is a good one. He blushes and his fins do the cute little flappy thing they do when he’s pleased, or one of the others praises him. He doesn’t do it for you much, but then, he never really approaches you much. Maybe he just needed you to approach him.

Food for thought, but his friends won’t be approaching him so you’re going to need to get him to kick that habit. “And why are you so insistent on not letting me help you make amends with your friends?” you ask, just for the sake of it.

“Because it feels an awful lot like you’re auspisticizing me an’ every single one a my old friends.”

“Doesn’t that mean I’m just looking out for you in the general sense, since it’s not with one specific other person.”

He glubs- honest to god glubs without water or anything- and blushes a little. Then his head thunks down with impressive speed to the table. You half stand, worried he managed to break his glasses and get the shards all through his face, but he just groans loudly and mutters, “Dirk was fuckin’ right, y’all are all going fuckin’ pale with my soggy ass. Don’t even know why.”

You exhale deeply and roll your eyes. Always with the melodrama. “Now hush. You’re very pitiful, or whatever counts as pale-attractive for you trolls, I’m sure. Honestly, I don’t see why naming you as one of our own has to mean we’re dating but whatever. You’re ours now and we’re going to look out for you.” You pat him on his hair and he lifts his face from the table. There are tears in his eyes, and you’re momentarily worried you said something wrong before realizing that your words just mean that _much_ to him. 

“Oh, there now honey,” you coo at him, getting up and going over to him. You pull out a chair so you’re sitting right next to him, instead of across, “Hush, it’s all alright. There now, shh.” He leans into you as soon as your hand pats his back and through the course of some finagling you get a crying troll perched on your lap. You pet his hair as he cries into the crook of your neck and hold his legs by the knees, shushing him and murmuring assurances as he slowly winds himself all the way up before coming back down. It seems to you that he really needed a good cry. 

The two of you make it through the whole pitcher of lemonade together, talking and holding hands atop the table, but you’re not about to let him forget his responsibilities.


	5. Chapter 5

V. Your name is Feferi Peixes. 

It has been two months since Roxy stopped asking you questions about Eridan. At first, you didn’t pay any attention to it; Roxy’s a busy girl and busy ladies sometimes have their attention taken up by other things. But then she kept not asking about him, and kept on not hovering around every corner, doing a this or a that or a something, and kept spending more time at home and kept showing none of the earlier curiosity about your ex moirail and ex friend that she had been showing and.

And you don’t know how to feel about it. You know that Roxy went out and found him, there is literally no other explanation. They don’t invite any of the rest of you over to their hive anymore, and you don’t ask to go. You’ve got plenty to keep you busy! You’ve got a matesprit and a moirail and you’re waxing pitch for a certain special someone and you’ve got your friends to catch up with and the humans to socialize with and a whole new glubbing _planet_ that is actually just a bunch of slightly smaller planets mashed together to go out and explore and you and Sollux and Roxy are working together to establish 1. the internet (their job) and 2. a social media site on said internet (more your forte) and you have swimming and all sorts of new fauna you and Jade and Tavros are researching and honestly you are really and truly -EXCIT-ED about all of it. But.

You feel like you’d be a lot more excited if you didn’t have moments. Just. Little moments. When you pick up a new squid-looking thing and turn over your shoulder with your best friend’s name on your tongue and halfway out your lips, only to find Jade standing there instead. When you’re going through your chumroll to say hi and check in with everyone, and you hover over violet with your thumb half obstructing the words. When you’re going to sleep and you miss him.

You miss him.

God you miss him.

Are you still mad at him? Abso-GLUBBING-lutely. He was going to join Noir and he almost killed Sollux and he _did_ kill you and Kanaya, you’re puffing pissed as shell at him for that. You’re still angry that he was just _hardly_ there for you like you tried so hard to be for him, that you loved him so much with so little return, but that doesn’t change the fact that you loved him. Love him. Waterever. He was your best friend, you know? You can’t just _stop_ caring about him just because you don’t want to date him anenome-more. You can’t remember a time in your life when you didn’t know him, when he wasn’t waiting for you above the waves with his stupid lusus and his dumb face that smiled at you less and less and less as the sweeps took their toll on him. You wish he’d told you more about what was going on in his head, then. You wish you could’ve kelped more, done more, you wish you could’ve been the kind of person to make it _work._

Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you’d ever done in your life, and you think you’ve grown up enough that you’re not going to lie to yourself anymore about all those times you really wanted to get back together. Part of you still does, but she’s quieter now than she was right after the split. Dying probubbly kelped with that, since being pissed is, well, one way to get over feelings for that boy. But you were all thirteen and stupid and maybe-

Maybe maybe maybe. Your head is filled with “maybe”s every time you think a-boat him. You’ve eely got to stop doing this to yourself. He’s gone and he lives with Roxy and Jane now and you’re probably never going to see him again and ugh! Ugh! It’s time to think of something else.

You tell Aradia you’re going to head hive, and she plants a smooch on your forehead as you leave, which gets you giggling, and you pull up the social site you’re in charge of making functional on your phone. The coding you’re at an entire loss on, but you can send your suggestions to Roxy and Sollux a-boat stuff you’d like to do and they usually get back to you pretty fast, like it’s a race to see who gets back to you first. You flip between that and texting Kanaya, and then open up a chat with Rose as well to tell her to make sure her matesprit doesn’t overwork herself with the Mother Grub. The ability to genetically reproduce as a species is nice and everything, but Kanaya is still only 7!

Some small part of you wonders if perhaps your lusus is still alive and she and her buddies are still listening to your thoughts, or maybe fate is just feeling particularly energetic today, because when you look up from your phone, there he is.

“Uh,” he starts. He’s nervous. He’s trying to hold himself up tall and proud, like he’s confident in what he’s doing, but you catch the way his shoulders don’t get pulled all the way back, the way his fins are angled flat and flaring down, half mast, instead of curving upwards, the way his gills are pressed flat from how tightly he’s clenching his neck, the way his left foot is perpendicular to his right, and how the leg it’s attached to is just a little further back. You know what he looks like when he’s anxious, you know him. You _know_ him.

It takes every ounce of self control in your entire body to not run to him. You still don’t manage to stop yourself before you take a step forward, lurching before the uncertainty kicks in.

“Eridan,” you say, and you don’t even know what your voice is doing but it shore is something.

“Fef,” he says, swallowing hard and trying not to shuffle (you know him, you know him, you know him so well). “Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet back, torn so many ways and feeling so much, you’re always feeling so much but sometimes your emotions are just _too_ much and you’re left airless.

“I- I know, I’m probably the last guy you want to see,” you were cruel to him, back right after the Game ended, “but if you’re willing to listen,” you’d screamed at him for the things he’d done and told him you never wanted to see him again, “I’d like to apologize to you. For everyfin.” You’d called him some pretty terrible things, in your anger, and you are still angry at him, for every moment you have missed him there is an equal and opposite moment filled with emotions of betrayal, of hurt and rage and confusion.

He’s using fish puns for you.

“I’m all earfins,” you tell him, your voice gone soft, and you offer a half smile in encouragement. You want him to apologize. You want the two of you to be _okay_ again. 

He takes a deep breath. You wonder if maybe, he’s been rehearsing this, possibly with Roxy or one of her coven. He’s got that look he gets when he’s quoting something (you know him, you read him like he reads his books, even three years and six months of distance later you still _know_ him and seeing him again is like stretching an ache that’s taken over your whole thorax). 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, which is a pretty good way to start an apology so he’s got one foot going in the right direction. “I fucked up big time. I killed you, and I know you’re angry at me for that and you have every right to be but I’m sorry I did it. If I had even half a chance to go back and fix my mistakes that would be the first one I’d change. I’ve regretted doing it since I pulled the trigger and I want you to know that I will _never_ hurt you like that again.” You can feel your goggles fogging up, and you want to forgive him right there (oh god you’ve missed this bastard) but he’s not done so you hold yourself still (you’re shaking, minutely but you are) and let him finish.

“I’m sorry I hurt you when we were moirails,” he continues, “I wasn’t there for you, and I should have been. You were my best friend and always worked your ass off for me and I never really appreciated you, and I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to take me back, but I do want you to know that I regret having hurt you and I wish it never happened. And Fef, Feferi,” he’s tearing up too, “I know you, Fef, so please promise not to blame yourself for any of that falling out. I know you like to try and make everything a matter of equals and you’ve found some way to make yourself wish you could’ve done more but Fef, that was _all_ on me, and I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders are shaking and you’re barely restraining your need to cry, but you want this apology, he owes you this and you want to hear all of it.

“I’m sorry I only ever thought of myself, even when I was trying to think of you. I’m sorry about Jack Noir and I’m sorry about draggin’ you into that shitheap with Sollux and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to apologize. But I wanna make amends, Fef,” a tear escapes him, and you know his fists are shaking even if you’re not close enough to see them, “I wanna be friends with you again.”

There’s the finality you’ve been waiting for, and you rush at him with all your emotions lighting fire in your legs. You collide with him and wrap your arms around his stupid torso and you can smell his stupid scent and he’s wearing his same old stupid sweater and you press your nose into his neck and take it all in, your arms fitting around each other like your bodies were carved to align like this.

“I forgive you,” you say, and your goggles fill up with your tears, “Eridan, I’ve missed you.”

Holding him feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact I had to stop so many times while writing Feferi’s part cause I kept on crying like a sap. So many, man, you have no idea how much I had to pause and wipe at my face. I was writing at the library too so like everyone got to see my red eyed crying face because good GOD these kids fuck me up so much.
> 
> Anyway please leave a comment with your thoughts!!! And feel free to point out if I typoed or anything!


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